Years
ago,
we drifted
together
like
a deep
Autumn breeze,
leaves
sauntering
from
newly
formed
buds, sprouting
and
stretching
their
limbs
filled
with
loose bark;
and
positioning
themselves
this
way and
that
until gently
settled
in loose
soil.

We
threw
risk
to the birds,
daring them
to mask
the
Sun’s veil
with their
gaze,
as
we
made efforts
to
feel
good; elaborate
sexy, and
intentional,
and
with
the glory
of
a house
filled with
soft
memories,
puzzle pieces,
and
fresh air
dipped
quietly in between
half notes;
as they
often
sit
idle, waiting
for
the
next
cue from
the Director.

We
then decided
yet
again to move,
distance
accompanying,
shadowing
the
murkiness
of days
into nights.
We
left
ourselves
open,
allowing
light
from the cracks
to
gain entry
into
our skin
cells,
gearing us
further away
from
the
trees,
roots,
and branches
that brought
us
together.

Finally, we
left
the comfort
of
the womb,
and
settled for
the
damp
texture
of distance.
Left, then
right, and
left again
until
the original
left
was no longer.

We felt
good,
but
with a tone
one
half-step
below
the rest,
and
with a careful
nest
not
fitted for
the comfort
of
two
any longer.

See,
we let
ourselves
go, and
fell
into
companionship,
and
became
the
way
we became
because
we knew
that leaves
only
fall if
they
are inquisitive
enough
to want
to know more
of
the world
below.